


No Objections

by abbner



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fake Marriage, Humor, Jealousy, M/M, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbner/pseuds/abbner
Summary: "Felix had barely given Dimitri’s wedding a second thought in the weeks leading up to it. But something had changed this morning, as he watched Dimitri look into Ingrid’s eyes and profess his love for her. Even though it was fake. Even though it was his idea. Even though he doesn’t give a damn about marriage anyway, a cloying, narcissistic affair for saps and people who hate themselves. Something had sparked inside him, taken him by surprise, but taken him completely nonetheless.And this, Felix thinks, is why he is in a bad mood."Felix and Dorothea attend Dimitri and Ingrid's fake-but-not-fake wedding and are straight up not having a good time.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dorothea Arnault & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, secondary Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	No Objections

**Author's Note:**

> tw for brief mentions of Dimitri's mental illness and some homophobia. M rating for language and a bit of sexual content throughout

“They look perfect together.”

Felix follows Dorothea’s wistful gaze from their secluded perch down to the center of the crowded entrance hall where the newlyweds stand, greeting their thousands of guests one by one. Dimitri and Ingrid are clad in white and pale blue, flowers entwined through their blond hair, the glow about them reaching all the way to the highest balcony where Felix and Dorothea have been hiding out for the last few hours. The king and his new queen are the center of gravity in the room, all the lords and ladies circle about them like bodies around the sun, basking nervously in their radiance, waiting for their chance to approach. They are the very picture of a happy royal couple, the pride of Faerghus, of all of Fodlan.

“They look like brother and sister,” Felix says. “It’s disturbing.”

Dorothea laughs. “You’re right,” she says. “Surely the other guests are thinking it. If only they all knew...”

“Hmph.” Felix leans forward and rests his elbows on the banister, his loose hair falling into his face, as he scowls down on Dimitri. The warm afternoon light streaming through the high Gothic windows makes him look ten years younger, almost more like the boy Felix knew at the officers’ academy than the scarred and hardened man he’d become, save for the gold embroidered eye patch. He finds himself wondering, not for the first time today, if the illusion would hold up if he were standing at Dimitri’s side in the sunlight rather than looking down on him from the shadows. 

He’s not close enough to tell if the smile plastered on Dimitri’s face is also reminiscent of their school days - carefree and bright to all except those who, like Felix, could see the darkness lurking underneath. Or whether it’s one of the smaller, sadder, but warmer smiles that he started wearing again towards the end of the war, one of the ones that actually reaches his eye. Felix can always, _always_ tell the difference. Except right now, he can’t. Dimitri is too far away.

Felix grinds his teeth, a bad habit he’s picked up in the last five hours since the wedding festivities began. His mouth is sore despite his concerted efforts to speak to as few people as he possibly can. 

He massages his jaw as he watches a young girl down below break free of her parents and run straight for the king and queen. She clambers up onto the dais, prompting more than a few gasps from onlookers, and waddles toward Dimitri and Ingrid, slack jawed, staring up at them in awe. Ingrid doesn’t notice, she’s deep in conversation with a few members of her pegasus knights corps. But Dimitri turns, crouches down to her level, and Felix knows instinctively that the smile on his face is one of his real ones. He pulls a blue flower out of his hair and offers it to her, she responds by trying to grab the eyepatch off his face. Felix struggles to repress a smile and as Dimitri shoos away the frantic apologies from her parents who have finally swooped in and intercepted their daughter with about as much urgency as if she’d been an assassin out to commit regicide. But he can’t help the warm feeling rising in his chest as Dimitri waves goodbye to her and she waves back, the flower clutched tight in her chubby hand.

“Get a load of Baron Ochs.”

Felix tears his gaze away from Dimitri to where Dorothea is pointing. The portly old man is bobbing up and down throughout the crowd, standing on his tiptoes to get a glimpse of Dimitri and Ingrid before diving back into the crowd in search of another path to them. Probably looking to complain about some stupid new manufactured crisis or otherwise bother Dimitri on his wedding day for no reason at all. He’s about to head down there to deal with it himself when he sees a familiar head of bright red hair appear, intercept him, and pull him away, somewhat forcefully. Hopefully Sylvain will throw him out on the street where he belongs, but that would likely do more harm than good. Ochs is a leech and a wrecker, and one of the reasons Felix and Dorothea are in this mess to begin with. 

“What a miserable old man.”

“Agreed,” Dorothea says with a grimace. “Oh dear, is that Lorenz accosting Dimitri and Ingrid?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, that’s him alright.” Lorenz’s mouth is moving a mile a minute and he’s shaking Dimitri’s hand with such rigor that Ingrid has to put a hand on his arm to steady him. Dimitri smiles and makes nice but Felix can tell he’s quite alarmed, even from all the way across the hall. 

_If I was down there I’d make him fuck off_ , Felix thinks. Ingrid just doesn’t have it in her to keep all the desperate, exhausting social climbers away from Dimitri the way Felix can. The way Dimitri needs.

“He always was pathetic when we were in school,” Felix says.

“It’s comforting how some things never change, don’t you think?”

Felix smiles for the first time all day, despite himself. Dorothea is not a bad wedding date. He’s sure the whole affair would be even more unbearable than it already is were she not there to snicker at the deplorable nobility with him. 

No, Dorothea is not the cause of his bad mood. In fact, she’s one of only three people out of the thousands packed into the castle today who can fully understand what the real problem is.

The other two just married each other. Which is, of course, the real problem.

“Duke Fraldarius, Lady Arnault, there you are!” They startle and turn around to see a messenger girl scurrying up the stone staircase behind them. “I’ve been looking for you two everywhere! The king and queen have requested your presence.”

 _King and queen_. Felix grinds his teeth again. “What do they want?” he asks.

“They- um- they didn’t tell me!” she squeals. “I’m sorry, I'm so sorry-”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” Dorothea says with a kind smile. “Thank you for letting us know, did they say where we are to meet them?”

“Um, in the sitting area next to the audience chamber. The private one that’s just for the king.”

“Wonderful," Dorothea beams. "Thank you so much for letting us know.” 

“You’re welcome, my lady! D-Duke Fraldarius,” she gives a tiny bow and flees.

Dorothea waits until she disappears down the stairs. “You didn’t have to frighten her like that.” 

“I didn’t do anything. Kids don’t like me.”

“I simply can’t imagine why,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Well they love me, because I don’t snarl at them. How lucky for you to be getting married to someone who completes you like I do.”

“Ugh.” Unbidden, Felix thinks of Dimitri and the young girl who had charged him earlier, tries to push it out of his mind. He does not appreciate the reminder that this isn’t the last wedding he will have to attend this year. And if he thought this one was bad, his own will surely be many magnitudes worse. Especially since Dorothea refuses to take seriously his repeated warnings that he would _literally_ rather die than have a wedding even a tenth the size of the one they’re currently attending. “I’ve had enough of this, let’s go.”

“I’m only joking, Fi-fi, hey, wait up!” she calls after him as he stalks down the stairs toward the audience chamber.

“ _Stop_ calling me that.”

“Whatever you say, darling,” she says, wrapping her arm through his as they begin to encounter wedding attendees milling about the hallway.

Felix groans. “That’s even worse.”

“Pet names add believability to this grand performance of ours,” she says quietly into his ear. “You should try calling me ‘sweetheart’ in front of some of the Adrestians later.”

“Not if my life depended on it.”

“Suit yourself then,” she says, unphased. “ _PETRA_ , is that you?”

 _Ugh._ Dorothea actually seems to be _enjoying_ herself. Felix can’t quite wrap his mind around it. She’s the one person at this stupidly large wedding who should be just as miserable as he is, given that they are in the exact same shitty position in the exact same shitty situation.

He has to drag her, somewhat literally, away from some of their old monastery friends in order to get the both of them to the king’s sitting room in a reasonable amount of time. As they walk through the audience chamber, empty save for a few small circles of guests looking for an escape from the cacophonous entrance hall, a wave of anxiety overtakes him. He’s not sure what awaits him in the sitting room. Dimitri is married now, to Ingrid. _Will he be different? Will things between us be?_

He shakes himself. Of course things won’t be different. Dimitri had sworn it to him. Why is he so anxious?

Dedue waits at the door to the sitting room. He and Felix exchange terse nods as he pushes open the great oaken door for them.

Dorothea is accosted immediately. Ingrid is on her, throwing her arms around her and burying her head in her neck, rocking them back and forth. Dorothea embraces her back, and it’s all Felix can do to slam the door closed before anyone milling about the audience chamber sees what is happening in the sitting room. 

“Dorothea, oh Dorothea, you look so beautiful!” Ingrid cries as she pulls her off to a loveseat in the corner of the room.

“Oh, Ingrid, my Ingrid, you’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you in there!”

Felix grimaces.“Would you two keep it down? There are people right outside,” he says, and is promptly ignored by both of them.

“Always looking out for us, Felix,” says another voice from across the room. He turns to see Dimitri, smiling and walking toward him, so radiant in white and blue and gold that he’s hard to look directly at up close. His hair is shorter than it was when Felix left him this morning, he thinks, and pulled back so that for once Felix can see his smooth, perfect skin, the curve of his jaw, his pink lips and his piercing blue eye all at once without pushing any of it back himself. Dimitri pulls off his embroidered white gloves and drops them to the floor as he approaches Felix, exposing his strong, scarred hands. It’s almost too much to bear, but Felix is frozen in place, unable to look away.

“Dimitri-” he says, just before he cradles Felix’s head in those bare hands and tilts it up, pressing their lips together.

He feels very awkward for a moment, kissing Dimitri with Ingrid and Dorothea in the same room, but one sideways glance shows they are so wrapped up in each other that they’ve likely forgotten the two of them are even there. So he deepens the kiss, runs his arms up Dimitri’s broad chest and around his neck, and pushes his mouth open. Dimitri makes a small noise of appreciation, drops his hands from from Felix’s face and wraps one arm around his middle, pulling him even closer and lifting him off the ground. The other hand is in Felix’s hair and, _fuck,_ he’s so glad he left it down today because there is no better feeling in the whole world.

Dimitri is warm and slightly sweaty but it doesn’t bother Felix in the slightest. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this, how desperate he was to be alone with Dimitri until this very moment. 

Dimitri puts him back down and pulls away, but brings his hands back to Felix’s face. Felix reaches for Dimitri’s as well, runs his fingers over his cheekbones, his lips, slips his thumb beneath the gold-embroidered eyepatch to feel the scar underneath. Dimitri lets out a low sound from deep in his throat and closes his eye, tilts forward to rest his forehead on Felix’s. 

He wants to stay here, in this darkened sitting room, forever, to never go back to the demanding masses of party guests, and to never let Dimitri go, never let another stand by his side ever again.

But of course, that’s not possible. Dimitri’s hands find Felix’s as he takes a small step back.

“You wore your hair down, like I asked.”

Felix flushes, reaches up and twists a lock of it through his fingers. “Yeah, well, you know it’s easier to leave it down.”

“Yes, but it’s so rare for you to do so. I thought it bothered you.”

“Yeah, but,” his eyes dart away and his flush deepens, “you asked, so…”

Dimitri beams and pulls him in close again, pressing his nose into Felix’s hair and running his fingers through the back of it. Felix grumbles but lets him do it.

“I kept looking for your face in the crowd during the ceremony but I couldn’t find you,” Dimitri says when they pull apart. “Where did you go?”

“I was hiding. You know I hate crowds.”

“Ah, of course. I feel the same. How I wish I could have joined you.”

Felix frowns. “You looked like you were having a fine time.”

Dimitri’s smile flickers, almost imperceptibly. “I assure you, I was counting down the moments until I could flee and return to you.”

"Oh," Felix’s stomach flips, and his blush goes nowhere. It’s amazing, he thinks offhand, how Dimitri’s words still affect him even after the years they’ve been together. “I wanted it to be over too,” he says, gaze darting to and from Dimtiri’s. “I...that wasn’t any fun. It was worse than I expected.”

Dimitri’s brow furrows. “Felix...I’m sorry. I didn’t realize, you seemed so unconcerned about the whole thing just this morning.”

“I was unconcerned. I’m not concerned now. I just…” He finds it impossible to put into words what he’s feeling, because it doesn’t make any logical sense.

“I understand, I think,” Dimitri says. He presses their foreheads together again. “I feel the same. I wish we could talk about it more now but...ah, yes, I’m afraid there is no time.”

Felix opens his eyes to see Dimitri looking off over his shoulder. He turns to see Ingrid and Dorothea standing by the door, holding hands but looking at them expectantly. Felix goes even redder, he had completely forgotten they were there, hates when others see him in moments of vulnerability like this. Especially Ingrid, who raises her eyebrow at him in a way that makes him seriously wonder if she's channeling Glenn.

Dimitri grabs his chin and turns it back toward him, always so unbothered about public displays of his affection for Felix. “Ingrid and I have to go, but will I see you at the reception? And afterwards?”

“Obviously. Where else would I go?”

“Good. Will you save a dance for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

Dimitri grins, “I am looking forward to it!”

Felix rolls his eyes, but he smiles back. Dimitri leans forward to press a final kiss to his lips. It’s quick and chaste, and then he and Ingrid are off. 

He feels a twinge of something strange and painful, something that he hasn't felt around Dimitri in a very long time. _Is this the sort of kiss I have to get used to now?_ Hurried, stolen, almost an afterthought as Dimitri rushes between his kingly responsibilities and his new wife? His _family_ , eventually? Will Ingrid and Dorothea always be in the room with them, from now on? 

The thought makes Felix feel ill.

* * *

It had been Felix’s idea, in the beginning. 

Ruling over all of Fodlan at once has been bumpy, to say the absolute least. It seems like every week there is talk of a new fomenting uprising, or some kind of crisis that threatens to spill over into all out civil war. Much of it is to be expected after so many years of war and the abrupt end of two major world powers. But some of it, they know, is personal. 

There is a subset of old Adrestian lords and disgruntled Leister nobles, not the majority of them but a strong plurality, who are not pleased with the state of things since the war ended and would much prefer the reinstatement of the Empire - or their own man on the throne in place of Dimitri. Felix knows they are the cause of most of this unrest, though it’s near impossible to trace most of it back to them.

They don’t just cause problems in their territories, either. They come to Fhirdiad, under the guise of official business, to disrupt meetings, process-monger, and generally make Dimitri’s job much, much harder than it needs to be. One of their favorite ways of doing this is nitpicking tiny little problems that, if left alone, would fade away to nothing in no time at all, but when poked and prodded and dragged into the spotlight become massive, regime-ending crises that, in their view, illustrate Dimitri’s ill-suitedness for the crown.

Dimitri and Felix have gotten quite good at shutting this kind of thing down before it gets out of hand. But sometimes these snakes succeed at drumming up actual controversy around one of their stupid non-issues. The most recent of these controversies had been around the question of royal succession. Because Dimitri had been on the throne for nearly seven years, and had given no indication that he had any interest in producing an heir.

This was because Dimitri had no interest in producing an heir. Which was because of Felix, of course, not that this was well-known information outside of their close circle. When they had fallen into bed together shortly after the end of the war, neither of them had meant to fall in love or intended to spend the rest of their lives together. But it had happened anyway, which wasn’t a problem at first. It was great, actually. Fantastic, even. Better than anything Felix could have ever dreamed it would be, if he was being honest. 

It only became a problem when a few troublemakers started pointing out that, should some unthinkable tragedy befall the king, the question of who should take up the throne could easily embroil the continent in another conflict as bad as the Five-Year War - or worse. Dimitri has no immediate family, only distant cousins, several of whom could make legitimate claims to the throne in his absence. And it is all but certain that factions within the former Empire and Alliance would take advantage of any period of instability to either to secede or take the throne for themselves. With Dimitri approaching thirty and showing no interest marriage, let alone producing an heir, people had begun to worry.

So it had become a problem in need of a solution. Felix and Dimitri had solved thousands of problems before; it's one of several things they excel at doing together. And the best solution was painfully obvious, they both initially thought. But this had, despite both of their intentions, turned into a second problem - their obvious solutions stood in direct opposition to each other. 

The idea of having two kings was not unprecedented. Faerghus had two queens once, a hundred years before Dimitri and Felix were born. They had done a good job, the history books are kind to them. But they also contain the story of their adopted son and heir, who, upon taking the throne, was so beleaguered by suspicion, lies and rumors at court, not to mention a near-successful rebellion stirred up by a distant uncle who believed he had a better claim to rule, that he had made the decision to relinquish the throne to a cousin, from whom Dimitri is descended. All this despite his minor Blayddid crest. No one knows what became of the adopted king, but Felix will be damned before condemning any child of his to a life like that. And this was after decades of peacetime and relative prosperity, not less than ten years after a continental war that upended the three-century-old balance of power.

But Dimitri had wanted to do it anyway. Dimitri, the rule follower, always so cautious, had been willing to risk everything to be with Felix. He’d asked Felix to marry him, to be his king, and Felix had said no. It is the single worst thing Felix has ever had to say to someone in his life, which is, he thinks, saying a lot. He tries not to dwell on the memory often, of the tears falling down Dimitri’s face as Felix had tried to make him see reason, or his own as he'd sobbed harder than he had since the day his brother died.

It wasn’t just that it was risky. There was very little risk involved, actually, in Felix’s estimation. It was more like certain, inevitable destruction. The question of succession had become such a lightning rod, such a rallying point for the Adrestian nobles looking for any excuse to rebel, that anything other than a natural-born heir would guarantee chaos.

There had been other ideas, but none more likely to bring stability than Felix’s, so that was what they agreed to. It was a good plan, and it made the best of their lucky situation of having two very close, very female friends stuck in a similar situation to theirs. If he detached himself from it enough he could even say he was rather proud of it. Dimitri and Felix would both have heirs, Ingrid would be queen and have the power to restore her house while retaining her place as captain of the Faerghus pegasus knights, and Dorothea the freedom to write and compose without having to worry about making a living. Felix could continue serving as Dimitri’s right hand, and he and Dorothea could spend most of their time in Fhirdiad, living in the rooms reserved for the king’s hand connected by secret passageway to the king's own quarters.

At least, that’s how it would appear from the outside. In reality, Ingrid and Dorothea will share the smaller right-hand suite while he and Dimitri live together in the royal quarters. Although now that he thinks of it, Ingrid and Dorothea _may_ be under the assumption the reverse is true; this is one area of the arrangement that has yet to be worked out.

There had been no objections. Felix had barely given Dimitri’s wedding a second thought. But something had changed this morning, as he watched from the balcony as Dimitri looked into Ingrid’s eyes and professed his love to her in front of a crowd of thousands. Even though he knows it was fake. Even though it was his idea. Even though he doesn’t give a damn about marriage anyway, a cloying, narcissistic affair for saps and people who hate themselves. Something had sparked inside him, taken him by surprise, but taken him completely nonetheless. 

And this, Felix thinks as he and Dorothea make their way into the reception hall, is why he is in a bad mood.

“Maybe we could have flowers like this at our wedding,” Dorothea muses, staring in awe at the massive garlands of pale blue and gold falling from the high ceilings and draped about the windows. Their petals flutter through the air but never seem to reach the ground. “Though our color palette will have to be a bit darker, since pastels wash you out.”

“Will you stop already?" Felix grumbles. "I’ve already told you I’m not having a big wedding.”

“Right, right,” she says airily. “I will have to ask Ingy to put me in touch with this orchestra as well. They don’t hold a candle to Mittelfrank, of course, but I doubt it’s realistic for them to travel all the way to Fraldarius from Enbarr just for a wedding. Though perhaps they would, for me, if I asked...”

“If they’re at the wedding then I won’t be.”

“Oh will you stop being so dour?” Dorothea snaps. “This whole plan was your idea.”

Felix grimaces. “Don’t remind me. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She stops, rounds on him. “I know you think you’re the only person who feels the correct way about anything, but I don’t like this any more than you do. You think I didn’t want it to be me up there with Ingrid today?”

“Hmph.”

“I did," she says, her voice strained. "It’s tearing me apart, Felix. All I want to do is lie down on the ground and cry. But you don’t see me taking it out on you, now do you?”

“You _are_ taking it out on me," he says, crossing his arms. "You’re getting fanciful ideas about our wedding. I told you how I feel about that.”

She rolls her eyes. “Felix, you _can’t_ have a wedding without flowers and music! Even a fake wedding. I mean, just look at _this_ fake wedding.”

“This is _not_ a fake wedding. And ours won’t be either.”

“Well you _definitely_ can’t have a real wedding without flowers and music, even if it’s small. And marriage is about making compromises, Felix. We are going to have to learn to compromise.”

He looks away. “I’m already compromising.”

Dorothea scoffs, “So am I! Stop acting like you’re the only one sacrificing anything here.” She takes his arm again and leans in close as they walk. “We’re in this together now, whether you like it or not. It will be much more bearable if we’re nice to each other.”

Felix looks down. Dorothea is right. He really shouldn’t be taking his...whatever he's feeling out on her. “Yeah. I know. Sorry.” He sighs. “The music is... nice. Maybe we can get one or two of the performers for our wedding.”

“Oh, Felix,” she says, brightening. “Make it ten or eleven and you’ve got a deal.”

He rolls his eyes. Dorothea is excited to be a duchess, to have access to luxuries like massive, tacky weddings for the first time in her life, though she’ll never say it out loud. It’s annoying, but it doesn’t infuriate him like it used to. And the tiniest part of him is happy that he has something to offer to someone who, against all odds, has become one of his closest friends. 

Something catches her eye. “Oh dear, is that Ferdie? What the _hell_ has he done with his hair?”

Felix looks. “It looks like he’s trying to channel Lorenz’s look from the academy. But failing, somehow.”

Dorothea cackles. Felix shushes her but grins despite himself. There are definitely worse people he could be fake-engaged to. 

* * *

He’s doing a decent job of pretending that everything is fine, he thinks, as the festivities go on. He forces down a normal amount of food despite his complete lack of appetite. Dances with Dorothea because he has to. Dances with Annette because the orchestra is playing their favorite song. Dances with Sylvain because no one else will. Eats the massive slice of wedding cake Lysithea brings him because it makes her happy, and okay, maybe it isn’t that bad. Makes nice with boring old nobles for only as long as he has to to avoid causing undue insult. Seeks out the silent companionship of Dedue or the professor - archbishop, rather - when he can’t bear another second of small talk.

He’s doing great, actually. It’s only when he catches a glimpse of Dimitri from across the hall, dancing with Ingrid, or laughing at something Ingrid has said, or in rapt conversation with some insufferable noble, Ingrid at his side, that the facade starts cracking. It’s even worse when Dimitri meets his eyes and gives him a small, sad smile. Felix flushes and tries his best to smile back. But it’s difficult, so difficult when Dimitri turns his smile back to Ingrid. _He hasn’t forgotten you_ , Felix tells himself. _He’s playing a part, we all are. Don’t resent him for it. He needs your support as much as you need his._

He repeats this to himself, like a mantra, but finds that it’s not that easy.

Sylvain finds him during one of these moments, as Dimitri twirls Ingrid around the dance floor for what must be the thousandth time.

“Hey, buddy,” Sylvain says, leaning against the wall beside him off to the side of the reception hall. He hands him a drink. “How are you doing?”

“Sylvain. Did you get rejected again?”

Sylvain laughs. “Not yet, but I’m working up the courage to ask Hilda so it shouldn’t take long.” Felix snorts into his drink. “No but really,” Sylvain’s tone shifts, he turns to face Felix. “How _are_ you?”

Felix scowls and looks away, crossing his arms. He does _not_ want to talk about this here, in the middle of the crowded hall, with Dimitri and Ingrid still in plain sight. “I’m fine.”

“Really?” Sylvain cranes his neck, trying to catch Felix’s eye. “Because if I were in your position I would _definitely_ not be fine.”

“Well, you’re not in my position,” Felix says, turning his head further away. “I told you, this was my idea in the first place, and we all agreed to it, so it’s fine. It’s fine.”

Sylvain pushes off the wall and plants himself on Felix’s opposite side. Felix grits his teeth and looks directly forward, intently at some lord’s bald spot. “It doesn’t sound like it’s fine to me, Felix,” Sylvain says. “And just because you agreed to it doesn’t mean you can’t be upset about it. You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know I can talk to you, I just don’t want to.”

“Okay, whatever, Felix. Just know that the offer stands, any time.”

Felix sighs. “I know. I...I appreciate it. Maybe another time.”

Sylvain grins and claps him on the back. “Sounds like a plan. Hey, actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something else. Is now a good time?”

“No, but spit it out.”

Sylvain clears his throat. “So. Have you all figured out how the whole,” he wiggles his fingers, “ _heir situation_ is going to work?”

Felix chokes on his drink. “ _What?_ ”

“You know,” Sylvain continues, “the whole reason you four are going through with this crazy plan.” He clicks his tongue twice. “Knocking up Ingy and Dorothea.”

“Are you actually asking me,” Felix hisses, sure that he has steam pouring out of his ears, “how I’m planning to get Dorothea pregnant?”

“Yeah, is it going to be a sort of,” he straightens up and does a mock salute “‘doing my duty to mother Faerghus’ situation, just a grit your teeth and bang it out type of thing? Or are you going to, you know,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and elbows Felix in the arm, “have some fun with it? Make the best out of a bad situation? Because if it’s the latter, and there’s some four-way action planned, well,” he lowers his head and looks up at Felix through his long lashes, “what’s a guy gotta do to get in on that?” 

Felix gapes at him. “I am going to kill you. I am actually going to fucking kill you.”

Sylvain throws his hands up. “Okay, okay, I get it, maybe this wasn’t the right time to ask. But give it some thought! Looking forward to hearing from you!” He scampers off and has disappeared back into the crowd before Felix can make good on his promise.

Felix stares after him for a moment, bemused. “Insatiable fucking beast,” he mutters to himself. 

_Of course_ he’s thought about the _heir situation_. He thinks of almost nothing but the _heir situation_. He had been trying to think about _anything_ but the _heir situation_ , and doing a pretty good job of it, too, until now. 

Somehow Sylvain has put him in an even worse mood than he was in before, a spectacular accomplishment, really. He hadn’t thought it possible. He stalks back to his table where Dorothea is sitting, sweaty and exhausted from dancing.

He plops down next to her and crosses his arms. She takes one look at him and rolls her eyes. “Oh what is it now?”

“What? I didn’t even say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Your aura said it for you.”

“My _aura_?”

“Yes, your aura. It’s a real thing, so don’t start. Yours is all black and spiky.”

“Black and spiky.”

“Yes-,” she starts, but is interrupted before she can go into more detail.

“Mind if we join you two?” Ingrid asks, falling into the seat next to Dorothea before either of them can respond. Her massive dress balloons out around her, making her look like one of Lysithea’s cupcakes. 

Dimitri takes a seat beside Felix. Both of them are flushed and their hair is starting to come loose. _Almost like they were fucking_ , Felix thinks before he can stop himself, horrible conversation with Sylvain still fresh in his mind. He feels guilty, immediately, for the thought, especially when he sees the concern for him plain on Dimitri’s face. “How are you two enjoying the party?” he asks, though Felix can tell the question is for him alone.

“Oh I’m having a ball!” Dorothea says. “I just love dancing, almost as much as Felix loves sulking in a corner.”

Felix scoffs. “Nonsense.”

“I saw you dancing out there, Dorothea,” Ingrid says, ignoring him. “You looked radiant, I just wish we could have shared more dances together.”

“Oh Ingrid,” Dorothea sighs and reaches out to cup her cheek. “You’re so sweet. And so beautiful.” 

“Dorothea…” Ingrid smiles, her eyes bright, and presses her hand to Dorothea’s holding it against her face. They sit like that, gazing into each other’s eyes in silence as if they’re the only two people in the whole hall.

Felix thinks he might vomit. 

“You’re looking quite handsome yourself, Felix,” Dimitri says with a shy grin. He slides his hand onto Felix’s knee under the table.

“ _Shut up_ ,” Felix jerks away and his knee bumps the underside of the table, rattling the silverware and startling Ingrid and Dorothea. “You idiots are going to undermine this whole thing.”

Ingrid glares at him. “Calm down, Felix.”

“ _You_ calm down. You two look like you’re about to jump each other in front of all your wedding guests. It’s disgusting.”

“Goddess almighty,” Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Can’t you be nice for a single day, Felix? For my wedding day? Is that too much to ask?”

“Yes,” Dorothea says.

“Give me a break, Ingrid,” Felix hisses. “Don’t pretend this day means anything.”

“Felix…” Dimitri says softly. He is ignored.

Ingrid leans forward in her chair, her brow furrowed. “ _Why_ are you making this so much harder than it has to be?” 

“I’m not.” He crosses his arms. “I just remember why we’re really here. Seems I’m the only one though.”

“ _Fuck off_ , Felix,” Ingrid bangs her hands on the table, the silverware rattles again. “Believe it or not you’re not the only one who’s unhappy about this.”

“Well you all could have fooled me. STOP trying to touch me, Dimitri!” he wrenches his arm away from Dimitri’s grasp.

“Ingy! Fi-fi!” Dorothea says in a nervous singsong voice.

Felix rounds on her. “I _told_ you to _stop_ calling me that!” 

“Do _NOT_ talk to her that way,” Ingrid raises her voice.

“She’s _my_ fake fiance, we can talk to each other however we want.”

“People are starting to _stare at us!_ ” Dorothea sings.

“I don’t care.” Felix yells. 

“Felix, please,” Dimitri begs.

“Oh so when _I_ act a tiny bit conspicuous it’s a high fucking crime,” Ingrid yells back, “but _you’re_ allowed to scream about it in the middle of my goddamn wedding reception. Cool, got it, thanks Felix. You know, the rest of us were trying to have a nice time, despite everything. Leave it to you to ruin it.”

“I don’t need this,” he pushes back from the table as loudly as he can muster, his chair leaving scrape marks against the floor. “Congratulations, you two, hope you have a happy life together.”

“Felix, wait,” Dimitri says, but it’s too late. Felix is halfway across the hall and out the door before Dimitri can get out of his chair.

Felix is not sure where he’s headed, just that he needs to get away from the wedding, away from the guests, and _especially_ far away from Ingrid, Dorothea and Dimitri. He stalks back through the entrance hall, ignoring Annette and Mercedes’ calls for him to join them for another dance, down the staircase, out the massive front doors and out into the twilight. It’s a relief as soon as the cool, northern summer air hits him, though he’d barely even noticed how hot it was inside. He runs a hand through his hair and makes the quick decision to head for the training grounds. Surely nobody else would go there in the middle of a royal wedding.

It’s not long after he gets there that he learns his hunch was incorrect. He hasn’t even picked up his sword when he hears the footsteps, turns to see a tall figure jogging behind him out of the darkness.

“I knew you would be here.”

He groans. He should have known Dimitri would follow him.

“Go away, Dimitri. People saw you follow me out, they’re going to talk.”

“Let them talk. What do I care? I already gave them what they wanted.”

Felix scowls. “It’s not going to be enough. You know that.”

“No,” he says, sadly. “It’s never enough.”

They stand in silence for a moment. Felix wraps his hands around his elbows. It’s still summer but the nights are cold, and he left his cloak inside.

“Fine, well, if you insist on being here at least make yourself useful.” He grabs two training swords and throws one of them at Dimitri, perhaps a bit harder than he intended to.

Dimitri catches it and sighs. “Felix-,”

“What?”

“Nothing. This is just not what I had in mind when I asked you for a dance.”

“Well it’s all you’re going to get,” Felix says before he lunges.

Dimitri swings his sword up to meet Felix's at the last possible moment. “I’m not really dressed for this. Neither are you.”

“I don’t care.” This is a lie, he cares quite a bit. Somehow even after hours of standing and speeches and dancing Dimitri is still gleaming, pristine. It’s unnatural, Dimitri never looks this put together, it’s like he’s a different person. Felix has been dying to get him dirty all day.

“I know you don’t, but still," Dimitri says, blocking each of Felix's blows. "I meant what I said in there. You look beautiful, and that jacket suits you so well, the green brings out your eyes. I would hate to ruin it.”

“Shut up.” Felix ignores the flush rising to his cheeks and swings his sword at Dimitri with more force than before.

They spar in silence for a few minutes. Dimitri is the one to break it. 

“Did I tell you that Ingrid threw her shoe at me earlier?”

“No, but I’m not surprised. She’s so obnoxious, always needling someone for a fight.”

Dimitri frowns. “I know you do not mean that, but please don’t talk about her that way.”

“Oh, excuse me, your Highness, I forgot she’s your queen now. I’ll try to mind my manners.” Felix swings his sword at Dimitri with both hands, a stupid, erratic move that Dimitri parries with ease. His other hand swings up to knock the sword out of Felix’s, sending it flying. 

“That’s enough,” Dimitri says, training sword at Felix’s throat in an instant. “Yield.”

“Hmph,” His narrowed eyes meet Dimitri’s for a moment before he turns on his heel to retrieve his sword.

Dimitri sighs. “I only told you that about Ingrid to demonstrate that you are not the only one who is having a hard time today.”

Felix groans. “I’m not having a hard time, I just don’t like crowds, I told you.”

“Felix, do not try to lie to me about this. And don’t pick up that sword, we need to talk.”

“We can talk while we spar.”

“You’re not sparring,” Dimitri says, grabbing him by the arm. “You’re swinging your sword around like a madman. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Don’t try and coddle me," Felix spits, wrenching his arm away. "I’m not your fucking wife.” 

Dimitri changes in an instant. The concern on his face melts away into pure hurt, then hardens into something unreadable but much, much darker than before. Felix’s stomach drops as he realizes what he’s just said.

“Dimitri, I-”

“Do not worry, Felix, you have made it perfectly clear that you have no interest in being married to me.”

“That’s not what I meant- come on, Dimitri, you know I didn’t mean-”

“I do not know what you meant, Felix," Dimitri says, louder than before. "You have been acting so strangely, so distant all day, and you won’t talk to me about it.”

“I know, I’m sorry-”

“If I didn’t know any better I would think you were _angry_ at me for going through with this plan, this plan that was _your idea_ and which _you_ pushed me towards.”

“I’m not-”

“And after you were _so adamant_ for months that you couldn’t care less who I was married to.”

Felix’s throat constricts. “I never said that-”

“You have no right, Felix, no right to be angry with me for this, not when it could have been you standing there by my side today, not when it was was _you_ who said no to _me_ -”

“Do you think I _wanted_ to say no?” His voice comes out ragged. “Do you think that was easy for me? That I wanted _this_?”

Dimitri says nothing.

“Do you really think I didn’t want to marry you? You don’t actually think that, do you?” His eyes begin to sting. “How many times have I told you? I would have stood up there with you today and professed my love in front of all those people, I would have done it in front of a crowd ten times that size and smiled and looked them in the eye and thanked every one of them one by fucking one just to make you happy. I would have danced with you to every single song. I would have gone through all of that and been _fucking happy about it_ if I didn't think it would get you killed in the end.”

“Felix…”

He's vaguely aware that he's started yelling. “I never even wanted to get married, never, until I watched you do it today. It...it fucking did something to me. I hate this. _I hate this_ , Dimitri. It’s all wrong.”

At this Dimitri closes the distance between them, grabs Felix by the hand and pulls him in close. Felix considers resisting for a fraction of a second but thinks better of it as Dimitri’s arms wrap around him. With his face hidden against Dimitri’s chest it’s much more difficult to keep the tears welling in his eyes from flowing. 

“I know,” Dimitri murmurs into his ear. “It pains me too.”

“I know it does. I know, I’m sorry,” his voice finally breaks on the last syllable. 

“It’s okay to cry.”

“No it’s not. It’s embarrassing. The three of you are holding it together just fine.”

“I assure you, it is costing me a great deal of energy to appear like nothing is wrong," Dimitri says into Felix's hair. "And in any case, you have never been good at hiding your feelings when it comes to me, Felix. Ever since we were children.”

“Shut up,” he tries and fails to shove off of Dimitri. 

“You would always cry when it came time for us to be separated.”

“Fucking hell. Why do you always have to bring that up?”

“I suppose it makes me happy to see evidence of the depth of your feelings for me. It’s so rare that you express them. Not that I enjoy seeing you cry, of course," he adds after a moment's hesitation.

Felix tries to tell him to fuck off but all that comes out is a broken sob. Dimitri wraps his arms around him tighter, sways them back and forth. A few minutes pass like this, the silence broken only by the wind rushing through the empty halls and a few muffled sniffles.

“I thought,” Dimitri says quietly, “that perhaps, in private, as the years go by, you and I could consider this our own anniversary,” Dimitri says. “But perhaps that was a foolish thought.”

“That is foolish,” he says as he wipes his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Why would I ever want to remember this day?”

“I... I don’t know," he lets go of Felix but grabs both of his hands in his. "I thought perhaps we could exchange something, make some kind of vow…”

“I’ve already told you," Felix says with a final sniff, "I’m staying with you until I die. I don’t know what else I can say to make you believe it.”

“I believe you, I do. Perhaps, then, we should promise each other that it will not always be this way.”

“What do you mean?”

Dimitri pauses for a moment, takes a deep breath. “I mean that one day I intend to stop living this lie. I cannot do this forever. Be king of all Fodlan and pretend to be someone I’m not. Pretend that I am not in love with you.”

Felix’s throat constricts again, he looks away. 

He continues. “It will kill me, eventually. Ruling Fodlan, it will kill me if I try and do it for too long. You know this, Felix.” 

His stomach drops. “Don’t...don’t say that. Please,” he begs, even though he knows it’s true. Dimitri will not stop himself from working himself into the ground, won't stop until Felix or Dedue or an episode forces him to. It won't be enough, not forever. He grips Dimitri’s hand so tightly he’s sure it will leave a mark, but Dimitri makes no move to pull away. “You can’t, you can’t-”

“No, you misunderstand,” Dimitri says. “I have no intention of dying for some lofty notion of kingly duty, not anymore. Fodlan doesn’t need a martyr." His expression shifts. "But it’s not so difficult to imagine a world where it doesn’t need me, either. Look at how things are now, Felix. The time might come sooner than we expect, when the right thing to do for Fodlan is to allow another to take up the mantle. Or perhaps a council, or some other sort of body. You were the one who told me about how Dagda was governed long ago, where the people chose their leaders from among them. Can you imagine that, Felix, choosing those most fit to rule based on their own merits rather than on their lineage? The people, all of them, choosing together? It makes so much sense, does it not?”

“It does." Felix says, slowly. "But I can’t imagine it. In Fodlan, at least. It’s been a nightmare instating the most basic reforms without instigating a rebellion. An utter nightmare.”

“Try to imagine it," Dimitri insists, leaning in closer. " _Please_ , Felix. Or imagine something else, an heir stepping up, perhaps. Or maybe a successful rebellion. Would being forcibly deposed really be such a bad thing?”

“Dimitri.”

“I’m joking, Felix. Although…”

“ _Dimitri._ They would kill us. Chop our heads off and mount them on the castle walls.”

“Ah, well, perhaps. We would be together, at least,” he says with a crooked smile.

Felix rolls his eyes, tries to pretend the thought doesn't make him want to break down again.

“All of this is to say that I have no intention of continuing the charade a moment longer than I have to. I swear it to you, Felix. The second I am no longer needed, the archbishop can annul my marriage to Ingrid, and yours to Dorothea. I've already spoken with Byleth about it, they have no qualms.”

“How presumptuous of you," Felix says, though it lacks his usual bite. He sighs. "Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You’re talking about changing the world, you can’t seriously promise me that.”

“Ah, you may be right, Felix," Dimitri says, his eye bright. "But we’ve already done it once.”

Felix’s mouth is already open to respond but he closes it, scowling. Dimitri has a good point.

“I will need your help to realize this, of course. Your perspective is so unique, Felix, you always see solutions that no one else can. Fodlan’s future won’t be written without your help, I’m sure of it.”

Felix flushes but doesn’t respond.

“So,” Dimitri continues, “I am not just going to make this promise to you. I need you to make it to me too. Promise me you will work to build a world that no longer needs us, where we can live however we want, go anywhere, together, without pretense.”

Felix lets himself imagine it, the one fantasy about Dimitri he’s never allowed himself to indulge. The one where the two of them leave Fhirdiad behind, travel the world together, go to Dagda, where his father’s father was born, Brigid, Morfis, maybe even Almyra. Felix has never been outside Fodlan, isn’t sure if he actually enjoys travel that isn't for battle, but is pretty sure he would with Dimitri at his side. Or they could stay in Fodlan, stay in Faerghus, even. Find a house in the forest somewhere, or on the coast. They could go hunting, climb mountains, maybe find a small village and protect it from bandits if they got bored. Live their lives far away from the demands of the capital, away from meddlesome nobles and the prying eyes of their enemies. Grow old together. 

And he thinks of the years between now and then. Getting to wake up next to Dimitri every day, working alongside him, united in common, covert purpose. Knowing that every insufferable noble he has to deal with, every interminable council meeting, every night he spends poring over reports by candlelight instead of sleeping is an expression of his devotion, his way of making good on his promise to Dimitri. And knowing that Dimitri is doing the same for him.

It doesn’t sound so bad. It sounds like a challenge. And Felix has never, not once in his life, passed up a challenge.

“This doesn't give you a free pass to work yourself to death, you know.”

Dimitri grins. “I know.”

“I’m still going to force you to take breaks. More than ever, probably. You keeling over in the middle of a meeting would be even worse if I knew that it was all for me.”

“I understand.”

“And you need to say no more often to stupid bullshit that isn’t worth your time. And you need to eat better, and see your healer every week instead of every month.”

“All of this is within reason.”

“Okay, well in that case," Felix forces himself to meet Dimtiri's eye. "Yes. I’ll be by your side until we’re both free. I swear.”

“And I swear the same to you, Felix," Dimitri says, taking both of his hands in one and pressing his other fist over his heart. "So long as there is air in my lungs and blood in my veins, I offer you my every breath, my every thought. My will is yours, and yours alone. I will reforge this world, I will not rest until every blade of grass, every pebble, each grain of sand is remade in your image. This, I swear to you.”

 _Shit. That was much better than mine._ “Um. Okay. Thanks.” 

“And until that day comes," Dimitri presses his hand to Felix's cheek. "I want you to vow that you will not leave my side.”

Felix scoffs. “That’s the easy part.” Inspiration strikes him suddenly. “Also, uh, yes. To your earlier question.”

“My earlier question?”

 _No going back now._ He gulps, looks away. “Yeah. Your much earlier question. You know. I'm saying yes.”

Dimitri's brow furrows. “I do not know. Unless… wait, are you saying-”

“Yeah,” Felix’s face burns but he pushes through. “After we’ve done it, and we can be honest, I’ll marry you. I want to marry you.”

He forces himself to meet Dimitri’s gaze, sees the shock there for a split second before Dimitri is kissing him, and - _oh._ Dimitri is everywhere, all he can see or feel, a hand in his hair, cupping his face, stroking along his cheekbone, the other slipping under his shirt, his arm pressed warm and strong against his back. He reaches his hands up to hold Dimitri’s face, twisting his fingers through his hair, pulling it loose as the kiss deepens. Their tongues push together, the feeling familiar but urgent, and Felix realizes again that this is what he has wanted all day, the feel of Dimitri on his skin, the taste of him in his mouth.

He wants even more than this, and wants it immediately.

This promise of theirs needs consummating, and he wants badly to show Dimitri just how much he means everything he's said, wants Dimitri to show him in turn. Heat gathers between his legs. He slides his hands down and untucks Dimitri’s shirt, lets his hands roam the soft, warm skin of his chest, wrap around his back and press into the scars there, into the hollow of his shoulder blades. He wants nothing less than to rip Dimitri’s shirt off, and his own as well. He wants Dimitri to fuck him, right here at the training grounds, wants to feel him deep inside him so desperately that he can’t help the breathy moan that escapes into Dimitri’s mouth at the sheer thought of it. He reaches down to palm Dimitri through his silk trousers and finds him already half hard.

Dimitri begins to grind his hips into Felix’s hand but pauses suddenly, and pulls back with a soft laugh. “Felix, ah, I don’t think…”

“Mm? Oh-” the haze clears and Felix comes back to himself, remembers where they are and where they’re supposed to be. He pulls his hand away quickly, face heating up. “Right. Sorry.”

“Do not apologize. You have no idea…” he trails off, his eyes roam Felix’s face. His eyes shine in the light of the moon and his voice is ragged. “You have no idea what you do to me. The depth of my desire for you.”

Felix presses a hand back to Dimitri's face. “Yes I do.”

Dimitri turns into the touch, presses his lips to his palm. “I am happy, Felix. So happy that you have said yes.” He pulls Felix in for one last kiss. It’s gentler, quiet, but no less passionate than before. Dimitri’s arms snake around him once more and lift him off the ground. Felix threads his other hand back through his hair. His thumb strokes the smooth skin beneath Dimitri’s good eye and comes away wet.

Dimitri sets him back down and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand as he pulls away. “You will come to my quarters tonight.”

“Obviously,” Felix says, even though it wasn’t a question.

“And you’ll come every night? When you’re in the capital?”

“When I’m not annoyed with you.”

Dimitri grins as he reaches out to brush Felix’s hair behind his ear. “That is all I can ask.”

“They’re going to be _our_ quarters soon, anyway.”

“Yes, unless Dorothea gets her way," Dimitri says with a small chuckle. "In which case I may need to move in with you. I hope that is okay.”

“Not a chance.”

Dimitri’s eye widens for a moment. “Over my dead body are we giving up the royal quarters,” Felix says.

He laughs. “We will certainly put up a fight. We make a formidable team, you and I.”

“They’re no match for us,” Felix says. He sighs, looks around them. It’s gotten darker in the time they’ve been talking. “We need to get back. Our absence is conspicuous, especially yours.”

“I would like to stay just a little longer.”

“Yeah. I would too. But you have to keep up the act, at least for now, if you’re going to keep your end of the deal.”

Dimitri nods. “I have no intention of letting you down, Felix, but it will not be easy.”

“No, it won’t be, but we’ll do it. Together." He squeezes Dimitri's hand. "And I’ll see you later tonight.”

“I’ll see you tonight.” Dimitri lets go of his hand, and with a last, sad smile turns and walks back towards the light of the castle. And after a moment, Felix follows him.

**Author's Note:**

> Is the lack of an Ingrid/Dorothea paired ending the worst thing IS has ever done??? probably not, but comment and let me know.


End file.
